


The Sorceress

by MirrorMystic



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:09:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23612809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MirrorMystic/pseuds/MirrorMystic
Summary: Narrow is the bridge between madness and magic.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	The Sorceress

**Author's Note:**

> Dug up some work from 2015, and decided to save it here for posterity. Enjoy some poetry from Tumblr-era me. :P

~*~  
  
Narrow is the bridge between madness and magic.  
To hold the unformed world in your bare hands  
And shape it to your will  
Such is the mark of a master.  
  
The greats dipped their hands into the clay  
And turned something raw and wriggling into something refined.  
Solomon, Circe, Odin hanging from Yggdrasill’s boughs,  
All magic is built on those who came before.  
  
Magic, passed down from the wise and the crazed  
Incantations babbled out by the lost and the damned  
Power bursting from their skulls with the force of their knowing.  
But is that mad? Or is that magic?  
  
I know a spell that can forcibly knit rent flesh,  
A healing power that will bring you from the brink of death  
So long as you don’t mind the scar.  
Is that mad?  
  
I know a spell that can lift the darkness from a mind,  
Ease the tides in a churning heart like the calming of a sea  
Though you will wonder, later, where your passion has gone.  
Is that mad?  
  
I know a spell that can bring an audience to its knees,  
Parroting praise and prejudice with every chorus  
Until their children weep from fear.  
Is that mad? Or is that magic?  
  
In my hands I hold a book that holds power overwhelming,  
A power that brings nations to war and tears families asunder.  
Clutched to my breast, I hold a book that can end the earth,  
And all you bring to oppose me is a bow and arrow.  
  
“Put this apple on your head,” You smile at me,  
And I obey, anticipating the deception.  
I know a spell that can let me catch an arrow in flight,  
And no feat of marksmanship will catch me off guard.  
  
But in that moment, I am struck  
Not by an arrow, but by a glance of coffee-brown eyes  
And the Book so tightly clutched to my breast  
Holds no more answers for me.  
  
I feel it, settling in my core and rushing through me  
Warmth flying up my ears and catching in my throat.  
Fire cannot kill a dragon, not from outside,  
But you set a fire in my heart and let it burn.  
  
Pierced and tumbling, like an arrow shot off my head,  
You’ve got me reeling, my book falling from my grasp.  
That book holds the answer to every question, save you.  
But is that mad? Or is that magic?  
  
~*~


End file.
